<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>tomorrow by bxnmitchell</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720446">tomorrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxnmitchell/pseuds/bxnmitchell'>bxnmitchell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EastEnders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Continuation, Extra Scene, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:55:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxnmitchell/pseuds/bxnmitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p> “Go upstairs, Callum.” Ben says, with a softness he surprises even himself with. He takes off his suit jacket, and Callum feels himself pulling at his sleeve again as he steadies himself against the table, as though if he hides the stain on his cuff well enough now then he might still fool Ben – or himself – like the two of them have managed to fool everybody else.</p><p>or: a coda for tonight's episode (29/09/20)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tomorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>finally back to writing again after a very long time to write a couple of extra moments that follow the events of today's episode!</p><p>enjoy x</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the haze of his second (third?) glass of champagne and the ambience of a pub housing more people than he can remember seeing in one place in recent history, Callum fools himself for a split second when the weight of Ben’s hand comes to rest atop his own, fingers locking. He turns to look at the hero of the hour, whose other hand is closed a little too tightly, nervously, around a bottle of beer, neck tilted to <em>clink</em> against Rainie’s glass as she thanks him, again, for his stroke of genius. Ben rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Please stop thanking me.” He says with a chuckle, because whatever good anybody thinks he’s done today, he’ll never do enough to make up for having let his world ruin the man beside him.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls intertwined hands down to rest on the red velvet fabric of the seat that sits between them, <em>separates </em>them, and still under the influence of his own façade Callum tells himself that if their hands are out of the sight of their audience then Ben cannot simply be performing a picture of happiness; he must mean it, this must be just for them. Callum squeezes, any hope of subtlety long gone, and Ben glances towards him, lets their eyes meet for just a second, and Callum <em>almost</em> smiles.</p><p> </p><p>But then Ben’s releasing Callum’s hand to swiftly, discreetly, pull the sleeve of the taller man’s suit jacket down over the cuff of his shirt in another silent reminder both of whatever it is that's happened and the need to obscure it, before he returns his hands to the surface of the table.</p><p> </p><p>Callum curls his hand into a fist, and immediately uncurls it again as the tension that begins to pool in his muscles takes him back in time, just a few hours, to the feeling of his grip tightening around the metal of a tyre lever that he’d picked up before he could think about it.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’m glad you missed all the action, actually.” Stuart starts. “You’d have had the celebrant marrying you two instead if you’d seen him saving the day.” He gestures between them, Jay and Lola making noises of agreement as Callum raises a hand in defiance.</p><p> </p><p>“I was there for the important bit, weren’t I?” He laughs, and Stuart’s face contorts into an expression conveying <em>I suppose so</em> and <em>but I’m still not happy with you</em> in equal measure.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a lull in the conversation that stretches on for a second too long, and Ben senses Callum beginning to falter under the quiet, largely unspoken scrutiny of the faces around the table. He can’t remember experiencing this in the third person before, accustomed to having to spin a narrative only to save himself.</p><p> </p><p>But he’ll do his best.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, alright. Leave him alone, will ya?” He waves a dismissive hand in Stuart’s direction. “It weren’t his fault. Everyone gets caught up at work once in a while, don’t they? If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame his boss.” Is what he says.</p><p> </p><p><em>Or blame me</em>, is what he doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Callum realises now that Ben lies so effortlessly by <em>not</em> lying at all. It’s true, in some way.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you really <em>are</em> a hero today.” Jay laughs, and Ben brushes quickly over the comment to continue in his display of distraction.</p><p> </p><p>“Now.” He taps his hands against the edge of the table as he stands. “My mother is standing behind that bar with a great big smile on her face, so, if I ask very, very, nicely we might get a free round of drinks.” He says, grinning, and his audience cheer.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s late when they finally get home, Callum stumbling around a kitchen chair as quietly as he can muster as Ben closes the door behind them.</p><p> </p><p>They’re alone, now, and the only thing Callum can be grateful for is that Phil isn’t sat at the table again, waiting to spin him another line about <em>family</em>.</p><p> </p><p> “Go upstairs, Callum.” Ben says, with a softness he surprises even himself with. He takes off his suit jacket, and Callum feels himself pulling at his sleeve again as he steadies himself against the table, as though if he hides the stain on his cuff well enough now then he might still fool Ben – or himself – like the two of them have managed to fool everybody else.</p><p> </p><p>“Not without you.” Callum’s sentence begins before Ben’s has a chance to reach its end. All of this has been for Ben, and he won't lose him now, even in this small way.</p><p> </p><p>Ben sighs and disappears for a moment, returning from the living room with a sweatshirt that Callum vaguely remembers leaving on the armchair yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>“You need to change your shirt.” He explains, holding the jumper in Callum’s direction. Maybe it’s not softness at all. Maybe it’s tiredness he speaks with.</p><p> </p><p>Callum instinctively straightens his back now, shedding his jacket and tie and draping them across the back of the chair that’s been holding him up. He takes off his shirt, and Ben takes it from his hands to run the cuff under the tap.</p><p> </p><p>After a few moments of unsettled quiet, Ben glances over his shoulder to find a man he recognises for the first time today.</p><p> </p><p>A gentle giant.</p><p> </p><p>His hair is messy now with the exertion of pulling on his jumper, eyes glazed over and frown etching its way into his features.</p><p> </p><p>Ben shakes himself back to reality. He turns off the tap, checks that the doors are locked, switches off all the lights, draws the living room curtains; Callum busies himself with balling up his shirt and tucking it under his arm, nerves swelling in the silence as it stretches on.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, then.” Ben says eventually, touching his free hand to the small of the taller man’s back as if to guide him, and then immediately placing the hand back at his side when he remembers where his <em>guidance</em> has gotten Callum so far.</p><p> </p><p>Without the need to confer, each of them avoids throwing even a rogue glance in the direction of Phil's door, and Ben closes their own tightly behind them, as though a shield is any good to them now.</p><p> </p><p>When Ben finishes pulling on a creased t-shirt, the same one he had worn the night before, he turns to find Callum sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and eyes firmly locked on the floor. He knows without asking that wherever he was today, whatever happened, it wasn’t by choice. </p><p> </p><p>He takes his hand, pulling until he stands up, and turns down the covers. With their eyes now locked, and without the urge to immediately break the connection, he rests his hand on Callum’s shoulder, smiling ever so slightly as he silently urges him to lie down.</p><p> </p><p>“Ben—” Callum starts. There are excuses, explanations, questions on the tip of his tongue, but Ben shakes his head as he settles down beside him. </p><p> </p><p>“Tomorrow, alright?” He says, crossing the distance between the two of them to let his hand find Callum’s.</p><p> </p><p>Truly just for them, this time. While it’s all still okay.</p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Tomorrow.” He repeats.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>